


All for You

by GallicGalaxy



Category: Outlast (Video Games)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Crying, Isabelle lives, M/M, Sadness, When will the tearful oneshots end
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-05
Updated: 2015-09-05
Packaged: 2018-04-19 04:05:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,024
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4732226
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GallicGalaxy/pseuds/GallicGalaxy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Waylon can only remember a time before he cried every day and cowered every night.</p>
            </blockquote>





	All for You

**Author's Note:**

> Hey I'm not dead (?)  
> I felt a burst of sadness so I decided to listen to Video Games by Lana del Rey like sixteen times and write another oneshot that involves crying  
> A little shorter; someone suggested Eddie screaming at Waylon and making him cry so hey I obliged  
> Also, set in that AU I've had for like a year and done nothing with  
> Featuring Isabelle, the beautiful cinnamon roll. Fluffy doge.

His eyes looked just the same as they did when he'd said, _“I love you.”_

On a quiet afternoon when they were sitting together on a bench, feet hanging idly into the grass, and Waylon was so happy to hear those words. Not only to hear them, but to feel them, deep in his chest, and to know that he'd finally found out what they meant. He remembered laying his head softly against Eddie's chest, feeling that warm heartbeat in his mind, as if it was his own, the very essence of his life connected to Eddie's.

He wasn't crying until he remembered it. He had just been listening, his eyebrows furrowed, his jaw set. It wouldn't end up being anything he hadn't heard before. It was just Eddie, screeching like a monster, tearing into him over some unimportant thing that suddenly became the center of the universe, the next reason why Waylon was the most worthless human being alive.

_“Maybe if you weren't such a stupid whore, I wouldn't have to do everything for you! All you do is whine about how useless you are!”_

Waylon was staring into his eyes, searching them for anger, or empathy, or anything. But for some reason, the perfect alignment of light and emotion made him look just like he did on that evening, when Waylon was wearing the first shirt that Eddie had ever made for him, wrapped in his heavy arms and weighted against his heavy chest.

And when he remembered how much they'd loved each other, he started to cry. He didn't really mean to. He didn't want to. It would probably just make Eddie angrier.

He forgot what Eddie was yelling at him about. Eddie had probably forgotten already and was just mindlessly venting his senseless anger with no rhyme or reason.

The words  _“worthless, cowardly slut!”_ echoed in Waylon's mind as he buried his face in his hands, sobbing violently, feeling hot tears burst forth from his eyes. He couldn't stop crying, he was thinking about another time and another place, feeling his heart sink in his chest like a stone when he thought about how impossible it all was now. He didn't even try to say anything, it was too futile and too difficult.

Eddie fell silent. Waylon thought for a moment that whatever he was saying was just overshadowed by how loud Waylon was sobbing, but even when he paused to breathe, he heard nothing. His last words were  _“worthless, cowardly slut”_ . If anything were to give that insult fuel, it was Waylon cowering and crying like a child.

After a few tense moments, Waylon lifted his eyes, hesitantly glancing over at Eddie, still breathing roughly, still trembling, still thinking about a time when he'd felt a stable, constant love beside him instead of a shifting mass of sputtering fury.

Eddie was just staring at him, his lips parted slightly as though he was about to continue his tirade, but all he did was sigh slightly. Waylon connected with his eyes, his face flushed to an unappealing shade of red. He thought he should say something, but the only thing he managed to say was, “I miss you.”

Because he was sitting with Eddie on a park bench on an overlook, watching the evening sun slowly wander ever lower in the sky. He was feeling Eddie's breath carry his head up and down, listening to all of the gentle rhythms that kept him so effortlessly alive. He was looking up into his spectacularly blue eyes and smiling sadly, and saying,  _“I miss you.”_ to a moment in time that he'd once thought was the start of something wonderful, something that would last forever.

Eddie let his shoulders fall, blinking slowly. Waylon wanted to run away, to slam the door to their room and sit in the corner for a long time. Long enough to pretend like he was alright.

Their standoff was broken by a small, trailing whine from somewhere unknown. Waylon knew very well what it meant, and it was a welcome intrusion.

Isabelle gave Eddie a wide berth as she entered the room, bypassing the chairs and tables and going straight to Waylon. It was almost funny, since Eddie was the one who'd brought her home, but she always seemed more attached to Waylon.

Waylon fell to his knees, knowing that he might not get up for a while, and let Isabelle come to him. She sniffed him curiously, aware of the fact that he was distressed, and whimpered sadly. Waylon sank his fingers through her monochromatic fur, feeling her tongue lap away his tears. He pressed his head into her fur, still crying, though not as profusely in the presence of her comfort.

Eddie sighed again, rubbing his face. Isabelle looked back at him for a moment, but kept her primary focus on Waylon. She attempted to climb into his lap, ears perked towards him worriedly. Waylon smiled through his tears. He was still remembering Eddie, but he was remembering coming home in the backseat of their car beside a fluffy border collie, her eyes widened and ears perked at the world that was zooming past her, so excited and confused as to where she was going and why she was going there. He remembered Eddie saying that the dog wasn't going to be allowed on the bed, but now, months and months later, Isabelle still slept at the foot of their bed every single night.

Eddie sat down opposite Waylon, running his hand along Isabelle's back. Isabelle wagged her tail a little, cocking her head at Eddie, and Waylon blinked at him through her fur, but Eddie was just watching the motions of his own hand.

They sat there in silence, Waylon shaking and breathing roughly while he ruffled Isabelle's silky mane, and Eddie smoothly stroking her back. Isabelle ran voiceless communication, a calming element of interference, an object that they could both focus on without looking at each other. Eddie rested his head against Isabelle's flank, raising his eyes towards Waylon.

“You know what?” Eddie murmured.

“What?” Waylon asked hoarsely, sniffing.

“I miss me too.”

 


End file.
